


get lucky

by jessicamiriamdrew



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Violence, F/M, Gen, References to Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:40:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicamiriamdrew/pseuds/jessicamiriamdrew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living with Tony and Pepper reminds Bruce of how alone he's always been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	get lucky

**Author's Note:**

> tw: mentions of suicide attempts, suicidal thoughts, domestic abuse
> 
> Recommended listening: Waste of Paint by Bright Eyes.  
>  _The last few months I have been living with this couple.  
>  Yeah, you know, the kind who buy everything in doubles. They fit together, like a puzzle.  
> And I love their love and I am thankful that someone actually receives the prize that was promised by all those fairy tales that drugged us.  
> And they still do me. I'm sick, lonely, no laurel tree, just green envy.  
> Will my number come up eventually? Like love is some kind of lottery, where you can scratch and see what is underneath. It's "Sorry", just one cherry, "Play Again."_

_Months._

It’s been three months since Bruce rode back to Stark Tower with Tony. He convinced Bruce to take a chance on something new, telling him that the world had changed since the days of the accident. Things would get better this time.

He met Pepper the next day and immediately saw the way she and Tony melded into each other. It made him ache for Betty and the days when he didn’t wake up cold and alone. Pepper’s will was just as strong as Tony’s if not more for all the damage control she had to do around him.

The first month he spent cataloging how physical they were together. His hand always found itself covering hers. Even paperwork was exchanged with maximum possibilities for touch. It was the way they moved together; Tony covered in grease and Pepper so polished as they wound around each other. It made Bruce feel something warm, like there might be a possibility of redemption for him.

 

_Puzzle._

He used to think of relationships as a puzzle that fit together neatly. He and Betty were that way, always edges and scraps and mismatches. But it was the only thing either of them recognized. Relationships meant commitment and time and never relaxing.

That was exactly what he couldn’t understand about Tony and Pepper. For every argument that ended in threats to leave the company, there were flowers and movie nights and bottles of expensive wine. There didn’t need to be an endeavor between the two of them. They stuck together like covalent people, attraction and repulsion making them a beautiful whole.

The only puzzles in his life had been the unsolvable kind. Sometimes they fell apart as he tried frantically to match the pieces. He’d thought he and Betty could be a match but she composed a different picture entirely, one he’d never get to be a part of.

 

_Drugged._

Bruce’s mom used to tell him fairy tales after particularly rough nights from his father. She’d speak wistfully about princesses and getting rescued. He never wanted to save anyone as much as her. His fascination with saving people was like a drug. The rush of it was intoxicating. The Hulk happened but he still tried to help in his own way, providing services as a sort of doctor. Every time he dispensed a medicine, he thought of magic beans and a princess and a pea.

Pepper and Tony were drugs for each other, the way they fixed and altered each other. He thinks about dopamine and serotonin and wonders the last time another person made him feel that way. It’s not enough; he’s never been enough. Sleeping pills are the only thing that let him sleep most nights but he thinks the warmth of another person could help. Bruce barely remembers how Betty’s skin used to feel curled up against him, his hand splayed against her stomach.

 

_Envy._

He was fucking sick of the Hulk and jealousy joke the first time he heard it. He’s got a canned death stare that he pulls out anytime someone dares to make it.

Bruce gave up on being jealous a long time ago, though, recognizing how futile it would always be. No one like him would ever get the things he fantasized about. Those were reserved for heroes, not monsters. His soul was grotesque long before the Hulk happened. Good men, men with character, they turn into Captain America. He turns into the Hulk.

Sometimes he watches Pepper and Tony, the hand at the small of her back, and wants. He needs someone to touch him, trace scars and mistakes and regrets that litter his body, bring a little warmth to a body and heart long gone cold.

 

_Lottery._

Bruce Banner trained as a scientist too many years to believe in luck and chances. Statistics explained everything that needed to be elucidated. The variables might change—they always fluctuated somewhat—but the range of answers never could.

He knew that somewhere in the math he could find the reasons he would always end up alone. Tony suggested blind dates and Bruce laughed him off. What were the odds of finding someone who could love him and the Hulk? The calculations were bleak. The limit to his unhappiness kept stretching out, no matter how many times he reworked the equations.

Lottery implied windfalls and good fortune. Bruce suspected his luck was much more of the Shirley Jackson variety. He’d been selfish. That much gamma radiation should have killed him. He’d rather have died a painful death by radiation poisoning than live out this ad infinitum, watching the slow possessive curve of Tony’s smile when Pepper entered a room. 

 

_Play again._

When he held bullets in his hand or drank down whiskey, he thought about hope and how it never mattered. Hope was for people with something—someone—to live for and cherish and desire. It was for children and Bruce had never had a childhood in ways that signified better days to come.

He’d always been a waste from his earliest days; the memories that constantly swirled in his brain of getting stomped on and berated made sure he couldn’t escape that knowledge.

The only game he wanted to play again was Russian roulette. It was the lone game where he always won. Every time he put the barrel into his mouth, he thought about the coldness of the metal and the relief of his skull splitting and never reforming. 

He didn’t know how many times he’d tried to lose at time game but he was certain he would always play at least once more.


End file.
